Ashes in the Moonlight, Drowning in Puddles
by Moirae333
Summary: To Remus, monsters were always hairy creatures who ran from rabbits or ducks with scissors. At fifteen, he didn’t understand that monsters defined so much more than what the television showed, that some humans could choose to be monsters. AU.


**Title: **Ashes in the Moonlight / Drowning in Puddles

**Rating: **PG-13

**Genre: **Drama and Action

**Spoilers:** Philosopher's Stone to Goblet of Fire, and the fanfiction of Losing Faith

**Period: **1975 (the summer before Remus Lupin's fifth year)

**Pairings:** None

**Summary: **To Remus, monsters were always hairy creatures who ran from rabbits or ducks with scissors. At his fifteen years of age, he didn't understand that monsters defined so much more than what the television showed, that some humans could choose to be monsters. **AU**.

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. All original characters, places, and objects are owned by Moirae and are not to be used without permission.

**Writer's Notes: **Warning for violenceAshes / Drowning is a prequel to the epic story of _Losing Faith, _which can be found under my profile. _This is an AU story that disregards OotP and HBP. _This was first written around two (or more) years ago. Thanks to Chaz, Death Hawk and Ergo for the beta jobs over the last two years while I was tweeking this. If you enjoy this story, and wish to read more about Remus and these events, please check out Losing Faith.

If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe

that his vengeance need not be feared **Niccolo Machiavelli (1469 - 1527)**

**Ashes in the Moonlight / Drowning in Puddles**

_Dark skies were starless tonight, no moon flickered into existence over the canvas that the Gods painted. Obsidian fogs stretched ominously over the narrow streets of London, hiding the sins of folk from energies of karma. Harlots tormented the allies outside of dank pubs, leeching themselves upon loused patrons. Spirits of murder haunt the small east area of London, its mortal flesh burning holes into the small wizarding community. _

_Two young wizards wandered the nameless street, their boots splashed in puddles of darkness and the skirts of their trench coats billowed about their ankles. They passed rickety buildings that housed more than three individuals per the five roomed flats. The taller boy glanced at his mate, shoved his elbow into the other's ribs and cocked his head towards the third building on the block._

_Inside the tavern, soft music haemorrhaged through the stained-glass windows._

"Pigeon?" 

"_Pigeon," the other replied, and nodded. _

-

Remus Joshua Lupin awoke in his single-sized bed, droplets of sweat dancing with roots of chestnut along his hairline and rolling down the bridge of his nose. Dreams may be built upon the subconscious of the mind, but what Remus witnessed through closed eyes was not fictional. Late one night in the past few years, he spied his older cousin and cousin's best mate enter the tavern; it was a ritual they performed since their sixth year at Hogwarts. They cast no magic, otherwise the Ministry would have been sure to tag them.

Remus never thought he'd find what he found.

To Remus, monsters were always hairy creatures who ran from rabbits or ducks with scissors. At his fifteen years of age, he didn't understand that monsters defined so much more than what the television showed, that some humans could choose to be monsters. The first time Remus saw a monster, he had accidentally seen his cousin during a Change. He didn't understand then that Oz chose to be a monster; that some monsters by appearance may not be monsters at all.

Remus tried to understand it all, wanted to understand it, but he never could wrap his mind around the notion. He read book after book on werewolves and on monsters, he talked to wizards such as Lucius Malfoy and James Potter. He borrowed books Oz stole, but Remus never figured out why Oz took the actions he took, why he chose to wear a monster's mask.

Remus knew that when Oz was eleven-years-old, his father had died. Death Eaters, Remus had heard his mum whisper. But when the light of the moon was hidden from mortal eyes, Remus discovered the truth. Oz told him about the wars in old ghost-story fashion, and that Death Eaters' hands could not hope to cast the death minotaurs do with one blow. Maybe that was when it started, Remus considered, but Oz wasn't looking for revenge--he never hunted minotaur with other wolves, nourishing the war between the races.

Stumbling out of bed, Remus slid his door closed and fell back into a fitful sleep, while his cousin in the next room bleached blood from pale hands.

**-**

"Sirius coming over today?" Accalia, Remus's mother, asked.

Remus glanced up through a mouthful of cereal, his thoughts taken from matters of lycanthropy. "Hmm? Oh, no. He's spending the weekend at Peter's," he explained as he absently twirled the metal teaspoon with his right hand and began to ponder on the substance of silver.

Accalia turned her back toward her only son and continued stirring the boiling pot on the element of the stove. "That's a shame," she murmured, "I hope Miss Pettigrew can handle them. You _know _how she is, after all. I heard in market yesterday that her father's war spell books have paid for her latest addiction." And merely for effect, Accalia shook her head despondently, _tsk_ing as she did.

Remus shrugged awkwardly and shovelled another spoonful into his mouth.

"Is James still interning?" Accalia inquired when Remus remained silent.

"He's not an intern, mum," Remus snapped, his calm demeanor momentarily lapsing as he was once again pulled from his contemplations. "That's too fancy a word for it."

Accalia ignored her son's tone with a grim expression upon her fatigued face; she had no fancy dealing with testosterone-ridden teenage boys. Extinguishing the heat source inside the woodstove, Accalia then twisted her hips towards Remus. "How are his parents?" she asked as her bottle green eyes contacted with his of the same colour.

"Good, I s'pose. Better with the third income," Remus replied, shovelling in the last of the bland and colourless cereal.

Accalia slowly nodded. "Yes, you'd think," she attempted to convince herself, and sighed deeply as she wrapped her pale hand around the handle of the pot. "I don't reckon that the Evans family would share a little of the wealth. The Potters just might fancy a handout from their future in-laws."

"That's an insult." Remus scowled as he cleared his bowl.

**-**

Remus never understood why Sirius wanted to spend the weekend at Peter's, but he pretended it was all the same to him. There were lots he could have done in the small wizarding village of Acheron, but nothing seemed to gather his fancy. He spent most of his summer pondering his cousin's bestial nature and the nature of monsters in general.

The dream came at least once a week; it was a recollection of events he witnessed a few years ago. He had followed a sixteen-year-old Seth and Oz from Acheron into London. They used conjured IDs to gain access to the tavern. What happened after they entered, he could not remember. There was a part of him, albeit a small one, that didn't want to remember. It was a ritual that took place every new moon for the past three years.

They were werewolves.

It didn't take long for Remus to understand that. But being a werewolf didn't make you a monster, being a werewolf didn't make you kill. The forbidden bloodlust that Oz and Seth bathed in during each full moon . . . Remus couldn't understand why.

But he would, he promised himself. He had exhausted all other vessels of information except one--Oz himself. He would follow Seth and Oz tonight after they left and hope that, hidden deep inside their actions there was an answer.

**-**

Remus's disenchanted eyes quickly adjusted to the bleak darkness of the alley Oz and Seth stepped into moments ago. He nervously drummed his fingers against the palm of his hand--one beat to every three of his caroming heart. The echo of shattering glass slashed effortlessly through the humid air, followed by a piercing cry belonging to that of a woman. And Remus idly wondered which novel Oz stole this setting from, as he cautiously moved towards the appalling scene unfolding before him.

"Oz?" his voice squeaked, and for a moment Remus doubted it belonged to him.

Oz whipped towards him, thick black strands falling into his eyes. His fingers relaxed on the woman's forearm and she shook loose from his grip, finding freedom around the corner of the tavern. "Remus." Oz flaunted a pleasant smile, giving his cousin a reason to tremble. "What're you doin' here?"

Remus swallowed thickly, recalled all the times that Oz replicated amiability before he curved his nature, becoming vicious. "Saving some girl you were going to sire," Remus calmly replied as a murder of crows fluttered violently in his stomach.

"We don't sire them," came Seth's monotone voice .

Oz glanced back at his best mate, and flashed him a crooked grin. "Not when they can serve us better as warm corpses," he explained, running his tongue along his bottom lip. Giving full attention back towards Remus, Oz leaned forward and down to Remus's line of sight, locking his black eyes with the green of his cousin's.

"That's unimaginably disgusting," Remus stated. The air between them was syrupy with the sweet scent of tension and dull music drifted through the tavern walls. Beside them, Seth cleared his throat as people passed them on the streets, but both parties ignored him--those patrons of the tavern were too far gone to be bothered with matters outside their circle and the cousins were inflexible in each other's stare.

Oz was the first to back down. But not because he failed, because he found another way in.

"You'll never understand it. Nothing you read can ever help you understand."

And both Seth and Remus wondered when this conversation was started, but only Remus fully understood the words. "I do understand," he corrected, catching sight of the answer as though it was written clearly on unlined paper. "You're a monster."

Oz graciously allowed himself a laugh that sent shivers down Remus's spine and caused Seth to chew the inside of his cheek. "But, dear cousin o'mine, can you tell me _why_?" he sang, his voice smooth with ridicule.

Remus blinked. "No. No, I cannot."

Seth placed his hand upon Oz's shoulder. "Oz . . ."

Oz irritably shrugged Seth's hand off. "Don't get your knickers in a twist," he snapped at his friend as he began to pace the lengths of the darkened alley, his hands tucked behind his back and eyes seemingly searching the sky. He chuckled as he muttered insulting words beneath his breath, shaking his head as his mind swarmed with thoughts. At this, Remus breathed a sigh of relief, hoping the ordeal finished, but quickly sucked it back up as Oz span back towards him, eyes ablaze with an intensity.

"Then you will never understand, Remus!" he shouted.

"Oz!"

"Quiet, Seth!" Oz commanded, his chest heaving as he deeply inhaled each ragged breath.

Remus's heart leapt into his mouth and when he swallowed, it stayed lodged inside his throat. He strained for calm breathing--each breath took three seconds--but his chest still burnt with a steady, aching pain. Shivers surfed along his spine as he kept his eyes secured upon Oz, Remus wanted nothing more but to run.

"You're no better than the Death Eaters," he told them.

"Like your dear 'ol papa?"

"Like all of them," Remus agreed.

Oz snorted, rolled his dark eyes and cracked his knuckles, the sound vibrating off the walls, wrapping them in soft blankets of cracking bone. "You see the world in the bland colours of black and white. Where's the vibrancy of yellow? The urgency of red? There's more in the world than just sinners and saints. You're colour-blind."

Remus stared for a fleeting moment before his heart melted back into its cage of ribs. "What colour are my eyes, cousin?" he asked sardonically, already knowing the only answer Oz could give.

But Oz smirked haughtily and replied, "An ugly shade of green found in broken bottles littering the streets, stepped on by Ripper's victims."

"No. What colour do you see?"

"Light grey," Oz smugly replied.

"And do you know why that is?"

"Because I'm a monster." Oz flashed the two canines.

Remus nodded an agreement. "Exactly." And with that, he spun on his heels and prepared once more to enter a world where monsters were afraid of shears. He strode as far as three strides carried him before something, or someone, slammed hard into his back, sending him forward. Coughing violently, Remus crouched on all fours, the metallic taste of blood tainting his tongue and dripping droplets to the ground.

Remus felt cold hands wrapping themselves around his chestnut hair and yanking him to his feet, slamming his head into the brick of the neighbouring building. Oz released the strands, and Remus slumped onto the ground.

"You know nothing!" Oz spat as he kicked the fifteen-year-old in the ribs, smirking at Remus's anguished cry. He wound up, ready to deliver another fantastic blow, only to be stopped by Seth's yielding hand upon his forearm.

"Oz," he simply said, "let it go."

Oz's eyes fell to Seth's hand and stared, his lip curled. "This is no business of yours, Higgs," he warned, and Seth shook as he removed his hand and took a step back, only capable of watching the appalling scene before him. Remus groaned shallowly as he staggered to his feet, ran his hand through his blood-slicked hair.

"Do you know what makes a monster, a monster, Remus?" Oz asked as he circled him as a vulture circles its prey. "It's not in the books you read or the people you talk to. You can't learn it in school. Being a werewolf doesn't make me a monster," he continued as he stopped in front of Remus, studying him. "I chose this route."

Remus shuddered, swallowing the fear that Oz surely smelt over him. He blinked incredulously once, with astonishment twice, and although he tried many times to remember the events that followed Oz's words, he only could recall bits and pieces.

Oz growled as he pounced, knocking Remus to the ground with an elbow to the chest. The pain in Remus's head was forgotten as Oz straddled him, pinning him to the ground. He writhed beneath Oz's weight, his eyes dilating with unconditional fear as Oz withdrew a double-edged dagger from the thick folds of his black robes.

"How will you handle it, Remy," Oz began, slicing a neat cut across Remus's cheek, and then one across his own palm before spitting a gob of salvia into it. "How will you handle it when people look at you like a monster?" And with that rhetorical question, Oz pressed his hand to Remus's cheek, their blood mingling as it streamed from their bodies, mixing with Oz's salvia.

And before Remus slipped away into blackness, he saw Seth pull Oz off his torso.

"Oz. What have you done?" Seth whispered as he watched the unconscious form of Remus convulse, the werewolf salvia and blood being carried by Remus's blood through his body, the Changes that will happen next full moon already planning their dance.

Oz merely shrugged. "He saves one soul and condemns his own."


End file.
